Free Between You and Me by Mike Wallace

that point across would be to interview the candidate and confront him with questions I was certain he wouldn’t like. In other words, no more Mr.
    Nice Guy.
    The opportunity came in July 1980, when I sat down with Reagan at his home in Pacific Palisades a few days before the Republican convention opened in Detroit. Having breezed through the primaries that spring, he had a firm lock on the nomination. In our interview, I asked him about his lingering reputation as a super-hawk, an inflexible foe of détente with the Soviet Union and China. I alluded to recent polls that indicated many Americans still viewed the prospect of his presidency with alarm and apprehension. Some of them had told pollsters they were actually scared to have him in the White House. I also reminded him about the outlandish stand he had taken back in 1965, when he declared, “It’s silly talking about how many years we’ll have to stay in the jungles of Vietnam when we could pave that whole country, put parking stripes on it, and still be home for Christmas.”
    I then brought up another hot-button issue: Reagan’s reputed lack of rapport with the African-American community. Just a few days earlier, he had incurred the wrath of many blacks when he dis-regarded an invitation to speak at the NAACP’s annual convention.
    The head of that organization, Benjamin Hooks, called the lack of response a snub, and one more example of Reagan’s “racial insensitivity” and avoidance of public appearances with black leaders. After Reagan and I had talked a little about that, I decided to bring the issue closer to home.
    W A L L A C E : How many blacks are there on your top campaign staff, Governor?
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    B E T W E E N Y O U A N D M E
    R E A G A N : I couldn’t honestly answer you. No.
    W A L L A C E : That speaks for itself.
    R E A G A N : Huh?
    W A L L A C E : I said, that speaks for itself.
    R E A G A N : No, because I can’t tell you how many people are on the staff.
    W A L L A C E : But you can tell black from white.
    R E A G A N : Oh yes, but I mean we’ve got a mix of volunteers and staff members and—
    W A L L A C E : I’m talking about top campaign staff.
    R E A G A N : Well, let me put it this way—
    W A L L A C E : Let me not belabor it. I mean, apparently, there are none.
    R E A G A N : No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’m— I don’t— I don’t agree with you on that.
    In addition to being flustered, Reagan was miffed. And so was his wife. While I pressed him about blacks and his reputation as a belli-cose cold warrior and other sore points, I was acutely aware of Nancy, across the room, in an agitated state, beyond the range of the camera; I could almost feel her glaring at me. When we paused briefly to put a new roll of film in the camera, she marched over to me, eyes ablaze, and opened fire: “Mike Wallace, what kind of questions are you asking? Why are you doing this to Ronnie?”
    I responded, wearily, with the standard reporter’s explanation that in asking the kind of questions that upset her, I was merely doing my job. Her reaction to my little lesson in Journalism 101 was swift and sure: The next thing I knew, Nancy had flung herself onto my lap and was giving me a big hug. That may have been nothing more than an impulsive show of affection, but I suspect it was more
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    F I R S T C O U P L E S
    likely a move calculated to underscore our long friendship and thus remind me that no friend of hers should be “doing this to Ronnie.” In any event, we all burst out laughing, and that eased the tension a bit.
    But I obviously had hit a nerve or two, and over the next few days, I kept hearing comments about how much I had upset Reagan, Nancy, and his people. The reports of their displeasure were, of course, music to my ears.
    Reagan went on to his nomination at the GOP convention, and from there he marched through his victorious campaign against President Carter. Although Nancy and I kept in fairly close touch with each